No More Heroes Origins: Bad Girl
by ChaosPariah
Summary: *spoilers for first game* After losing to Travis, Bad Girl reflects upon her life at her last moments and thinks back to what lead her to become the way she is. Rated M for gore and mature content. This is my first fanfiction and I'm planning on writing a series about the assassins. Please rate and review if you can. Thanks!


It's just a job. The daily grind. Question, why am I such an angry bitch? It doesn't matter. They're all going to pay, with their fucking lives.

Maybe I shouldn't have let things get to me so much, but getting impaled and bleeding on the floor, I suppose that's one way to make up for my mistakes. And I see that bastard, in his red coat and those stupid fucking glasses, looking down at me.

I lost.

I always used to hear from people why I became so angry, what lead me to this path. Heh, does it really matter? I know most people like to theorize that someone molested me or maybe my family got killed. But people and their complex theories. Ahh, so laughable. Oh sure someone died but it wasn't anything flashy like a mass murder or me bashing them to death, but it's more than what people think.

You see, my father was a heavy drinker. The fact that I wasn't a planned birth didn't help matters and I had a twin brother. Our mother was in the picture for two years, but then father said she "disappeared" and never came back. Her body was found two weeks later.

Our father was the first baseman for the local Santa Destroy baseball team. With mother gone, he brought home a multitude of women and forced both my brother, whom I called Bad Boy, to watch as he went on his escapades. It was sickening, to say the least and when my brother and I refused to watch, he taped our eyes open with duct tape until we stared. We were only three years old then. From that moment, I stopped talking and my brother couldn't understand what was going on. Whenever our father brought in more prostitutes, he began to dress me and my brother up for his sick enjoyment so he and his companions could get off on it. How sickening. Eventually, I warmed up to it and took a fondness for the pink dresses that he made me wear. My brother did not and eventually he tried to convince me to run away, when we were seven.

"Sis, we need to get out of here."

I looked at him with a blank expression and shook my head.

"Sis come on!"

I shook my head. It's not that I didn't want to escape. We just had nowhere to go and my brother knew that. He relented but looked at me in the eye.

"I promise you. We'll find a way out."

I nodded my head and went back to our room. You know I probably should have explained this before, but seeing as I am on the floor bleeding to death, it really doesn't matter in hindsight. But my brother and I shared a room. When we weren't busy watching father get his freak on, the two of us used to quietly sit in our room. Since I wouldn't talk, my brother used to make up stories about how our father was an alien and how mother knew about it and things just got weird. It was the closest thing to comfort that I had, something I could cling to. I mean, something had to keep me going, right?

One day changed everything though. My brother and I were 14 years old and just entering high school. Father had come home late, as usual and in a fit of rage smashed his beer bottle against the wall. He had been suspended from baseball for assaulting a member of his own team. There were two prostitutes with him and when one of them asked what he did for a living, he took his broken bottle and slashed her neck, then proceeded to beat the other one to death with his baseball bat. It was then he noticed my brother and I were in the room.

"You punk ass kids, you're not going to tell anyone what you saw. She attacked me first, got it?"

My brother nodded in fear but I looked blankly at him. Our father screamed at me.

"I said do you hear me!?"

It took me a minute but I started laughing. It was a haunting laugh that lingered on for what seemed like hours and looked father in the eyes. "Oh I hear you." Those were the first words I had said in years. My voice sounded like it came fresh from a grave.

Father came up to me and grabbed me by the collar of my dress. "Good girls do what they're told."

I looked by father and picked up his baseball bat that was lying right next to me. "You're forgetting! I'm a BAD GIRL!" I took the bat and rammed it into my father's skull, knocking him to the floor. My brother stared at me and tried to restrain me but I pushed him off and let the bat fly, blood coming off of my father's body. "DIE! DIE!" I screamed.

It took a few more minutes for my brother to pull me off and he looked at me. "Sis?"

My brother. The one person who cared about me. I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around him. "Thank you, for trying to save me." I shed a tear and closed my eyes.

The baseball bat knocked him off of his feet and my brother collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain as I brought the bat to his skull. At that moment, part of me embraced what I was and wanted to sever any connection I had left to normalcy. Part of me just wanted to free my brother from the life I was about to embark on.

Leaving the two of them on the floor, I ran to the Santa Destroy Stadium and made a hideout in there. For the next few years, I spent my days smashing the skulls in of anyone who was unfortunate enough to walk in and smashing my own skull in beer. It was then a woman named Sylvia came in and saw my talent for bashing things to death and recruited me to the UAA. An assassin, now that was cool.

I worked my way up the ranks, tearing people limb from limb with father's bat. I chose to keep it and the pink dress he made me wear all the time as a reminder of where I came from. And every time I watched someone die, I continued to laugh. It was such a rush.

So that's what lead me here. Sometimes things have to end, and sometimes lessons have to be learned. That idiot, Travis was it? Oh it doesn't matter now. I tried to continue even after getting impaled but I had no strength to fight. He got up off the floor and looked down at me. This is how the story ends. I muttered with the last of my energy.

"Thanks."


End file.
